


loser buys dinner

by debilitas



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Double Dating, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Light-Hearted, M/M, Post BL3, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debilitas/pseuds/debilitas
Summary: Yes, Mordecai decides. This is absolutely a joke. A cruel prank to punish him for kicking their ass in that sniping contest.
Relationships: Brick/Mordecai (Borderlands), Rhys/Zer0 (Borderlands)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 143





	loser buys dinner

**Author's Note:**

> for alex & florian love u guysss

Mordecai gnaws at the dense nail of his left ring finger. Bites it with his canines while he nervously eyes the space— the _people_ around him.

A woman in an elegant gown shoulders past him, shooting an unrestrained look of disgust. There’s an unlit cigarette between her slender fingers as she steps out into the smoking area, temporarily filling the lobby with the stench of nicotine. Mordecai’s never wanted a smoke more than he does now, just to take some of the edge off this sharp awkwardness.

“You think they got one of those chocolate fountains?” Brick asks, visibly bored.

If Mordecai sticks out amongst Promethea’s elite, Brick is a massive sore thumb. He towers above everyone else, earning plenty of unsubtle glances, and had to turn sideways to fit through the entrance. His wallet chain jingles as he shuffles back and forth on his feet, fingers tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Maybe,” Mordecai answers wryly, casting a suspicious eye around the lobby. _Where the hell is Zer0?_

Brick’s stomach growls. “Thought you won that bet.”

“I did,” Mordecai’s gaze wanders to the elaborate chandelier suspended from the ceiling. “Thought I did, at least.”

He spots them then. On the other side of the lobby, pointing a gloved finger at him. Wearing their usual helmet, expensive lights twinkling in the dark visor, and a goddamn suit. An actual _suit_. This has to be some kind of joke.

A person in the crowd moves, revealing the man stood beside Zer0. 

Yes, Mordecai decides. This is absolutely a joke. A cruel prank to punish him for kicking their ass in that sniping contest.

They walk, arm in arm, like an assassin turned debutante. The restaurant’s thick crowd disperses for the couple, allotting a wide berth for them to walk through. They wait nor pause for no one; modern royalty.

There’s an unmistakable smugness to Rhys Strongfork’s stride, corner of his mouth tugging into a sly grin. He turns his head toward Zer0, saying something to them that only they can hear. Zer0 nods in response.

Promethea’s people do not make room for Mordecai or Brick. They shove their way across the room, Brick repeating _‘scuse me, ma’am, pardon him, mister_ , as they do.

They finally break through the throng to meet Zer0 and Rhys. The man’s Echo Eye seems to glint in the light, twitch slightly, like it’s focusing in on him. Probably flashing he and Brick’s old wanted posters, ages, and status. Horoscopes, maybe.

“Don’t zoom in on me,” Mordecai snaps, hand instinctively returning to his mouth to nibble the fingernail.

Rhys blinks. Through grit teeth he says to Zer0, “Well, isn’t he friendly?”

Their visor illuminates: _ ** >.> **_

Brick closes the distance between them, taking Rhys’ false hand in his own, shaking it firmly. The force jostles him thoroughly, a strand of gel-slick hair coming loose.

“I’m the friendly one,” Brick says. Rhys has to crane his neck up to look at him. “And hungry. Where can a guy get some food in this joint?”

Rhys chuckles nervously, gesturing toward the open dining room. Even from here Mordecai can see that it’s a massive room, complete with windows that reach the ceiling. They provide an excellent view to the dark expanse of space above and its stars. 

“This way.”

“Don’t we need to—“

“— Reservations won’t be necessary.” That smug look again. “I own the place.”

“Yeah, Mordy,” Brick chides, patting his upper back, sending him stumbling forward. “He owns the place.”

The dining room, despite its sheer size, is claustrophobic. Expensive tables with even more expensive tablecloths thrown over them, fresh cut flowers serving as the centerpiece for each one. Everything is lit a soft shade of yellow by the massive chandelier above, crystals gently clinking together.

Rhys leads them across the room, organic arm still interlocked with Zer0’s. Mordecai eyes up the man’s dark suit, perfectly tailored to fit his form. There are subtle, vertical stripes on the pants, adding an extra layer of detail for god-knows-what reason. It’s all probably made from fabric Mordecai can’t name, sewn together by underpaid hands.

They arrive at a corner booth, made of dark leather that cracks under Brick’s weight when he sits. The table is already set for a party of four, and Mordecai fiddles with a silver fork, reflection frowning back at him.

The bet between him and Zer0 had been simple: loser buys the other dinner. And when he said dinner, he meant a burger in a shitty bar that smelled faintly of death. Not fine dining in formalwear, playing nice with the CEO of Atlas.

“You must be a Pandoran native,” Rhys says to Brick. He’s wearing a white dress shirt tucked into his slacks, top buttons left undone to reveal coarse chest hair. “Giant dudes that smell like blood. Really takes me back.”

Brick sniffs an armpit, turning to Mordecai.

“Do I really smell like blood?”

Mordecai waves him off. “Nah. That’s just your natural aroma.”

A waiter stops at the table, pouring dark wine into each glass but Mordecai’s. His is filled with water, and he starts to wonder just how much Zer0 had revealed about him. 

“Tell me more about that contest,” Rhys continues, well practiced in reviving dead conversations. “I love hearing about Zer0’s exploits.”

The visor flashes a quick _**/ / / /**_. 

Mordecai bumps their shin under the table. “I kicked their ass. Oh, you’re lucky you weren’t there; I didn’t know aliens could cry like that.”

Truthfully, it’d been a rather mundane sharpshooting contest, and he’d only won by a few points. He’ll never miss an opportunity to gloat, however, especially to punish them for dragging him to this restaurant.

Rhys looks noticeably uncomfortable again, swiping his lower lip with his tongue. Takes a hurried sip from his wine to break eye contact, shooting Zer0 a pained glance. 

Salads are served, even to Zer0, who doesn’t touch it. Their hands are positioned on the table in front of them, silently tapping the soft tablecloth. Brick vacuums his meal up with what’s definitely not the appropriate fork, then starts picking at Mordecai’s untouched plate.

Rhys eats neatly, placing reasonably sized bites into his mouth and sitting with perfect posture. Like this is some uptight business deal, where image matters.

“He always like that?” Mordecai asks, jabbing a thumb in his direction. Brick crunches a crouton loudly.

“Rhys has thick armor / but trust me, it does come down / it just takes some work.”

Mordecai stabs at a piece of carrot, not eating it. “What kind of work?”

Brick interjects, “You gonna eat that?”

Zer0 makes an amused noise, distorted by their modulator. They slide their full plate over to him.

“I have a tailor that could make you some formalwear,” Rhys says, gripping his half-empty glass just a little too tightly. “So you wouldn’t have to wear… that.”

Brick innocently looks down at his tuxedo T-shirt, cotton stretched across his chest so harshly the transfer is distorted. Mordecai always found it ridiculous, until seeing how much it got under rich people’s skin.

Through a mouthful of lettuce he replies, “These are my fancy clothes.”

“Denim and a tee / out of place on Pandora / remember that, Rhys.” Pretty good interference.

“Yeah,” Rhys agrees, nodding. “I remember being pretty overdressed next to the locals.”

“He cleans up real nice,” Mordecai adds. Teasing sounds much more malicious coming from anyone but himself.

Brick blooms under the praise. They all fade to an uncomfortable silence when the table is cleared, and they’re served the next course. Steak, from an unidentifiable animal, next to small potatoes and seasoned asparagus.

When Mordecai was a teenager, first growing into his scrawny body, his mamá said he looked like a stalk of asparagus. He smiles down at it, until Brick stabs the widest part of one with a fork.

“What? You ain’t gonna eat it.”

“I caught you smiling / a fond memory, perhaps? / Share with us, my friend.”

Mordecai scowls at them, picturing a smug look under the blank helmet. “Just thinking about our little contest.”

“I have to hear about this,” Rhys says, only slightly starstruck. Figures. “Please?”

Mordecai leans back in the booth, positioning both hands behind his head. It’s too casual, too comfortable for the setting. It seems to change something in Rhys, though, whose posture also relaxes. They almost look like old friends. 

“You really wanna hear the story, eh? Shit, where to start. We were sittin’ on a roof in Boomtown—“

“—Where?”

“Don’t interrupt, Strongfork.”

Zer0’s visor illuminates: _**LOL**_. The text disappears before Rhys can notice it.

“So, we’re sitting there, watching some bandits. Probably a good mile off, yeah? So I say to Zer0, ‘bet you dinner that I can shoot that one’s helmet off’, and it goes from there. I hit one, they hit one. I miss, they miss. Helmets flyin’ everywhere, all of ‘em screaming.”

“Wait,” Rhys says, pausing like he expects to be scolded again. “You didn’t kill them?”

“It was a fun game / meant to be shared between friends / no need for bloodshed.” Zer0’s hand finds Rhys’ on the table, resting their palm atop it. “Mordecai’s idea / he is much nicer than you / would ever expect.”

“Not all of us can be all bloodthirsty, all the time,” Mordecai adds, taking a long sip from his water. It’s ice cold, and welcome in his dry mouth. 

“What can I say here? / There is nothing like a kill / well-earned and thrilling.” Zer0 turns to Rhys when they say it, and he seems pleased. CEO of Atlas, reduced to a blushing vault hunter fanboy. 

The meal proceeds with less tension, and even fewer thinly veiled insults. As it turns out, Rhys has a bit more Pandora in him than a $10,000 suit could ever hide. Brick cleans off his own plate and picks from everyone else’s, alongside what has to be a gallon of water in refills. 

It feels unnecessary for there to be a check at the end, but Rhys still signs off with the stroke of an engraved fountain pen. Mordecai has no reservations about the triple digit price, and encourages Brick to get a to-go plate of chocolate covered strawberries. 

He _did_ win, after all. No matter who Zer0 makes pay for it. 

The restaurant is in the process of closing by the time they’re done, other diners long gone, but Rhys insists he has something else to show them. Shoving a strawberry that was supposed to be for Tina into his mouth, Brick agrees before there can be any protest.

Turns out, the way to a man’s heart — Brick’s, at least — really is through his stomach. 

Rhys leads them up a staircase and through two sets of expensive doors to a balcony. A thick layer of glass curves over their heads, protecting them from the cold expanse of space above. 

In the center, there is a cylindrical aquarium that nearly reaches the ceiling. Tropical fish of all shapes and sizes swim lazily through the clear water, lit by round lights. Blue, probably. Mordecai’s heard great things about blue.

Brick lets out an impressed oooh, before clearing his throat and feigning a disinterested posture. Rhys stands in front of the tank expectantly, brows raised and palms outstretched.

“He likes fish?” Mordecai asks Zer0, and they give him a sustained _**< 3**_. “He likes fish.”

“Do you even realize many species I have in here?” Rhys interjects, just a little too defensive. “How much time and money goes into this?”

“He’s got a lionfish,” Brick says to Mordecai, like he’s supposed to know what that means. “Bad. Ass.”

“Thank you!” Rhys replies exasperatedly. Attempts to clasp Brick’s shoulder in solidarity, but his fingertips barely reach. “This guy gets it.”

“How ‘bout one of those big ones? With the teeth?”

Rhys smacks his bicep. “Got one in the lobby!”

“Man, I gotta see that,” Brick shoves the container of fruit toward Mordecai, and follows the man out of the room. Rhys is exaggeratedly waving his arms as he speaks, clearly deprived of opportunities to share his hobby.

Fish. Why one of the most powerful men in the galaxy would invest in the most boring animal is beyond Mordecai. So is where the hell Brick learned about them.

He saunters over to Zer0, picturing a bemused expression beneath the helmet. Up close, he takes in the details of their custom suit. 

It has the bones of a tuxedo, with a black bodysuit underneath, concealing the skin of their neck and hands. Tiny grains of glitter — possibly diamonds, knowing Rhys — are in the fabric of the suit, imitating starlight.

“Didn’t know you were rich now,” Mordecai huffs, gnawing at the nail of his thumb. “What would the other vault hunters think?”

“The fabrics are nice / but the form underneath is / the same as always.”

“Uh uh,” he elbows their bony chest. “Don’t get soft on me.”

Zer0 flashes a _**!**_ , then shakes their head. “Never, Mordecai / I am an assassin first / above everything.”

Mordecai feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “What about everyone?”

The visor slowly illuminates. _**/ / / /**_.


End file.
